


reason number twenty-eight

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn With Plot, Sex, one shot with additions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-12 11:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma has twenty-eight reasons for wanting to go into the field and a certain kind of bucket list that's nearly finished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jemma

**Author's Note:**

> Like the tag says, this was originally a one shot but, thanks to tumblr, there have been additions to the universe in the form of the following two "chapters." Read one, read 'em all, whatever, just don't start in on this expecting a three-act story.

In her efforts to wear Fitz down on the whole "going into the field" argument, Jemma invented a new kind of sandwich, stopped speaking to him (for five minutes; he didn't notice), and wrote a lengthy paper.

The paper was the selling point - apparently he only believed she was really serious when she put academic effort into it - and she feels slightly guilty about that, actually. She shouldn't because he didn't even bother to read it, but she does all the same. It outlines in great detail twenty-seven reasons for their going into the field, with data and graphs and a plethora of credible sources to back it all up. Only it leaves off her own personal reason number twenty-eight: Jemma really wants to fuck a specialist.

When Jemma and Fitz spent eight weeks stationed at a small lab in northern Canada, Jemma found herself in bed with one of the field agents guarding them. He was her first to come from Operations and it occurred to her, as she lay in her own bed later, reliving the very brief encounter, that her partners had either held or gone on to hold positions in most of SHIELD's agent positions.

At the time she thought it a funny little anecdote of her life. There was no real reason for her to pursue further relations with those from the Operations track. Theirs were the only agent positions she hadn't fully conquered thus far and, if this particular agent were any indicator, she wasn't missing much.

But as time went on, she's managed to fill in every slot on the completely imaginary check-list. Except specialist.

It's silly, she knows, and more than a little crass, but she can't help herself. Now that she's realized the lack, she can't just ignore it. It's always  _there_ , mocking her. All right, not mocking because it's only a figment of her imagination, but it  _feels_  as though it is. It even became the defining factor in whether or not she would take a man up on it. Was the sex really going to be worth it if it didn't fulfill this abstractly related desire?

Apparently not. And that is no way to live.

So Jemma drags Fitz into the field, in part - very small part, 1/28th part - at the urging of her libido. Every one of the other twenty-seven reasons comes into play. They get to see their inventions in real, everyday use and create better ones as a result. They become more active and thus healthier. They gain a greater appreciation for what SHIELD does in the wider world. Fitz finally gets to see a monkey in the wild. It's all going splendidly.

Except that Grant Ward is too- too  _Grant Ward_  to do anything with. She looks into his background after she meets him and is disappointed with what she finds. Son of a senator.  _Grand_ son of a senator. Well-to-do political family gives birth to son who wants nothing more than to go out into the world and do good with his own two hands. He's like Coulson, another Cap, one of those all-American agents who is just oh-so-perfect in every way. He _holds doors open_  for her, for God's sake!

He's really not the sort of man who a woman has a one night stand with. Especially after he begins sleeping with May. Even when that ends - which Jemma has no doubt it will, who do they think they're kidding? - it will be  _months_  before Ward is up to getting into bed with someone again. Years before he's willing to risk it with a fellow team member again.

So her best option, the specialist on her own team, is unfortunately out.

Naturally they meet others over the course of their adventures and she thinks Agent Triplett might be a real possibility. He's a lot like Ward, if less socially awkward, and while he's a little sweeter than she'd like, the fact that he's not on the team makes a quick roll in the hay with no strings attached a real possibility. She really thinks she might get her chance when they're alone together at the Hub.

And then the world falls apart.

She doesn't think about her personal quest again until long after she's undercover in HYDRA. She's alone and frightened and could really use some stress relief that doesn't involve her own two hands. She considers whether or not HYDRA classifications - all literally just SHIELD classifications lifted over - count and, if they do, would she be willing to literally sleep with the enemy just for some comfort and a goal achieved.

Luckily none of the HYDRA specialists so much as give her the time of day so she never has to find out.

When she returns to her team and her base, she accepts hugs and expressions of relief with a smile. And when she's alone with only emptiness where her earlier adrenaline was, she fills it with fingers tucked between her folds. She imagines other hands - bigger, stronger - teasing at her flesh. She envisions a body rocking over hers, a weight so much stronger and firmer than her own. She dreams she hears a dry, rough voice whispering crude words in her ear.

It doesn't surprise her at all that each of these imagined attributes belongs to Grant Ward.

It began while she was away. He just appeared in her mind's eye as she came around her own fingers. It happens. Random bits of thought are bound to pop up at the absolute least appropriate moment. So she thought nothing of it until the next time, when she was having some trouble. Her fingers were beginning to hurt and she thought she'd have to give it up as a bad job when memories of Ward appeared. Not memories of the Bus or of clinging to him in midair. The footage. The security footage from when he kidnapped Skye and their later encounter at Centipede headquarters. The feed from his early interviews with Coulson before the isolation seemed to break him. He wasn't a Cap then. He wasn't All-American. He was hard and cruel with that sharp twist to his smile marking him a completely different man from the one she knew on the Bus.

She had to shower after, to wash away the phantom brush of his killer's hands over her skin, but it was the best orgasm she'd had since SHIELD fell. Despite her best intentions, she returned to the fantasy again and again. No matter how she tried to replace him with Trip or Peterson or even Bakshi, he kept appearing and finally she stopped fighting.

She really needs to have a good shag soon, she thinks as she lays in her same familiar quarters in the Playground. Maybe that will see him gone.

Unfortunately there's no chance for that. Her previous arguments against Trip have only increased now that they're living in the same base, and none of the other new agents seem up for it.

She throws herself into her work instead. She keeps late nights and has early mornings. She'd say her blood is mostly caffeine by now if it weren't medically impossible.

It works. She's too tired to even think of sex. At least not while she's awake.

Her dreams turn against her. She can barely remember them but she  _knows_  they're about him. They leave her wanting and in need of a shower, after which she always does the exact wrong thing and looks in on the security feed from Vault D.

When he escapes she hopes it will end. He's no longer  _there_ , always just out of her reach.

It makes it worse.

He could be anywhere in the world. Any mission she goes on she could run into him. She doesn't dare hope that whatever horrible things he's doing now will override her desires when all the horrible things he's done in the past haven't. It's deplorable, but this new, real Grant Ward is her perfect image of a specialist, built up over years of quiet wanting. Oh, she could do without the treason and murder, but if little things like that were enough to quench desire, the world would have seen far fewer wars over the ages.

Despite her fears she doesn't see him. He doesn't keep away exactly, but he keeps at arm's length to avoid getting a knife in the gut from one of the team. She's glad she's not on the Bus when he takes Skye. She's glad she's far away and doesn't have to add a live, in person image of him to her mental collection. And afterward, when she discovers that he was almost right on top of her on the island, she's so relieved she has to sit down.

She should probably know by now that these things never really go her way, not where he's concerned.

She's taken, captured. It was always a possibility that HYDRA would feel especially insulted by her work as a mole, so she isn't surprised that the agents make a point of grabbing her over the others. What is surprising is that Ward appears in the nick of time to pull her out. There's no mind-control, no torture, just a daring rescue from a man she  _should_  despise.

He's shaved. A fact which occurs to her as she's sheltered under one of his arms - and oh, she could've gone her whole life without ever again feeling the strength of those arms. She tells herself she's glad he shaved. It makes him less rough and thus, less infuriatingly desirable. And then she tells herself to  _snap out of it_  because they are being _shot at_.

He gets them out and to a one-room cabin he claims is a safe house. She can have the bed, after the day she's had, and she's grateful because that means he doesn't expect her to see to his injuries. She curls up atop the moth-eaten quilt and tries to pretend he isn't moving around only a few feet away.

When she wakes, she knows she's had another of the dreams. Only this time she's not sure whether it's truly over.

The cabin's dark and foggy moonlight illuminates his face above her. She thinks he might've been saying her name. She thinks she might've been saying his.

The blush that colors her cheeks only makes her more aware of the ache between her legs. She wants him. Very much. And now he knows.

It's liberating in a way, like a weight's been lifted off her shoulders. She no longer has to fear him discovering her dirty secret. Perhaps the natural progression from this point is to fear what he'll do with the knowledge, but she doesn't. She knows there is one thing she _wants_ him to do with it and finds herself taking initiative in that regard.

He's too strong for her to drag him down so she pulls herself up, arching her back to press her chest against his as she slips her tongue into his mouth. He moans somewhere deep in his throat and she can feel the vibration down to her toes. His hands feel utterly fantastic moving through her hair, dragging along her scalp - that is, until they pull her away.

She's gasping, her body aching now that it's so close to what it's wanted for so long, and she's honestly not sure what she'll do if he puts a stop to this right now.

His fingers are still moving against her scalp, pulling gently at the hair there, and the look in his eyes is pure lust. And then it goes away, gets locked behind the Cap mask he wore for so long and he tells her she's just emotional. He tries to set her aside, to walk away, but she won't let him go and he can't force her without hurting her.

She kisses him again but it's all wrong. He keeps his mouth a firm line and his hands aren't touching her at all. She rocks against him, trying to cajole him, but he holds firm in his resolve. Slowly she sinks back to the bed, defeated. She smiles ruefully as she rolls back onto her side. In all her fantasizing, in all her agonizing, it somehow never occurred to her that the real Grant Ward doesn't want her. On the Bus he wanted May and now he wants Skye. Saving her today wasn't about her, it was about manipulating the chess board.

She sighs. Maybe  _this_  will do it. Maybe rejection will be what finally cures her of her obsession with him.

He hasn't moved. He's still sitting on the bed down by her hips and suddenly she's furious. How dare he do this to her? Not the saving, not the rejecting, but the  _lying_. He's not some Cap, he's not the man she knew on the Bus. Grant Ward, the real Grant Ward, is an asshole, plain and simple, and the least he can do, if he's going to reject her, is reject her as the man she's been fantasizing about, not some cheap imitation.

All of this she says to him, loudly and with more cursing than she's ever uttered in one go in her life. When she's finished he stares so long she almost misses the return of the lust in his eyes. He grins, all teeth and absolutely none of the awkward sweetness that colored his smiles on the Bus.

She sat up again to yell at him and he pulls her against him so quickly he's kissing her before she even realizes he's moved. He's all tongue and teeth, making his way down her neck and soothing the hurts he causes with tender swipes of his tongue.

His arm around her is pinning one of hers to her side so she lifts the other to his head, trying to direct him to just where she wants him. He catches her wrist and then gives her room enough that he can grab the other in the same grip. A thrill of excitement at this new development reaches low past her belly and then he's got her pinned, arms held firm above her head with his weight heavy atop her. It's even more satisfying than she imagined it to be.

One-handed he moves her shirt up to kiss his way over her stomach and chest. He palms one breast free of her bra to suck at it and she writhes under him, desperate, animal sounds escaping her. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him flush against her in hopes he'll take the hint. He smiles up at her and revisits his attentions on her other breast while his hand moves down to undo her jeans.

There's no graceful way for them to undress and since he's unwilling to let her go to actually finish the job, he settles for getting them just undressed enough. After that it's hard and fast and messy. She thinks she might break skin if she fists her hands any tighter and her legs hurt from the denim holding them as tightly as his hand holds her wrists. He pushes into her with measured thrusts, meant to jar her as much as to satisfy. His hand slides between them, moving through her folds as he kneads her clit, and finally knowing just what he feels like touching her there is enough to have her half-way undone.

She doesn't scream his name, doesn't scream at all. She only lets out a deep, throaty sigh that seems to come from her very core as she finally,  _finally_  gets what she's been wanting for so long. His mouth covers hers, swallowing it down and taking everything she has to give.

He collapses, half atop her. One hand trails over her uncovered skin, the other still holds her wrists in a loose grip.

She smiles, caught up in the afterglow of a good, hard orgasm. She's finally had a specialist after months of wanting and wishing. It was far better than her first Operations agent. She nuzzles his short hair, pulling his attention up to her face. He looks just as dreamy as she feels, but once he sees her, his face twists into that knife-sharp smile again.

She's finally had a specialist.

She thinks she'll do it again.


	2. Grant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested on tumblr: Grant's POV of the original one shot.

He’s not surprised when she starts moaning in her sleep. She was about five minutes away from being tortured when he got there and to top it off  _he’s_  the one who got there. From the way she shied away from him when they finally arrived at his nearest safe house, he thinks she might’ve actually preferred the torture to his rescue.

He drags himself to his feet and makes his way carefully through the dark room. She’s twisting on top of the blankets, lit up in broken shafts of moonlight coming through the window. Small, distressed sounds escape her. 

“Simmons,” he sighs, already eager to be back to bed, and settles on the edge of the bed when she doesn’t respond.

He figures he should wake her up before it gets too bad; it’s the  _nice_  thing to do. Even if she doesn’t appreciate it now, she’ll appreciate it a hell of a lot more than if he’d let her wake up screaming. It won’t make the rest of this little adventure they’re on any more bearable, but it’s an investment. In a few months, when Coulson is forced to question his character, she’ll remember this.

“ _Simmons_ ,” he calls again, more firmly. There’s something about the sound of her distress that’s plucking at his nerves. And besides, the sooner she stops, the sooner he can go back to the lumpy couch.

She turns towards him and in the dim light he has to lean forward to see if her eyes are open or not. Not, unfortunately.

“Ward,” she says in a way that makes his blood surge. His body stills, tenses the way it does when he senses danger. He finally notices what he should have before: the lack of fear in her whimpers, the pure want that’s there instead, the way her legs and hips move beside him like she’s trying to find friction.

He doesn’t mean to say her name again, but something pulls it up from inside him.

Her eyes snap open.

She’s like a deer caught in his headlights. But she doesn’t try to run. 

She grabs him, using his body to pull hers up. Her curves press against him and he has a brief flash of their tumble through midair, the adrenaline and excitement, before her tongue is in his mouth and the same thing that pulled her name from his lips has him moaning. 

It’s been a long time, not his longest dry spell - nothing will ever match years alone in the woods - but a long time all the same. And it’s not like he’s never thought about Simmons. All of them on the team were potential partners until he settled on May. He’s gotta admit, there’s something about those damn high collars and sweaters, hiding every curve, that made him want to see what was underneath.

He catches her face between his hands, drags his nails into her hair. She makes a noise of approval somewhere in her throat and he pulls back to get a good look at her like this.

That’s when he remembers that this is  _Simmons_. Sleeping with her won’t just be sleeping with her. Even when he was deciding who to form a physical relationship with on the Bus, he knew she’d be the sort to want a real relationship. But now? She’ll hate herself. She’ll hate him. And she’ll set back his attempts to ingratiate himself with the team a good six months. (And it’s only been four since he was in that cell, so he is  _not_  going back that far.)

Reluctantly, he calls up the old Grant Ward, the one from the Bus. He’s the nice guy, he can let her down easy when the real Grant’s way would be more like dropping her and walking the hell away before he does something they’d both regret.

He tries to pull her off him, to lay her back down, but she only clings tighter and kisses him again. It takes every bit of his skill not to kiss her back. He thinks about icy winters in the woods and counts to a hundred, just to stop himself from grabbing her by the hips. 

Finally -  _finally_ \- she lets go. She’s disappointed, but she’ll get over it - better than she’d have gotten over actual sex.

He thinks about saying something to comfort her. What would he have said before? Probably something about not wanting to ruin their friendship, which obviously doesn’t apply anymore. He tries to think of something else but her ass is resting against his hip and it’s distracting. He should really get up and leave.

And that’s when she starts yelling. (He really should’ve left when he had the chance.) But just  _what_ she’s yelling about is enough to floor him. Angry at being rejected, he gets. Angry that he’s being  _nice_ about it? 

And then she says the thing that really gets him.

“Fantasizing?” he echoes. She’s been _fantasizing_ about him? And, as she has made abundantly clear, not the version of him she knew on the Bus - the one who made a point of working out shirtless right outside the windows of the lab every day - but, as she calls it, the asshole version of him.

This is not the Simmons he pieced together from his analysis. This is an entirely different animal, one who opens up a whole world of possibilities. If the circumstances were any different, he might be horrified by how completely he misread her. As it is though, he’s a little too busy wondering just how far she’s gonna let him push her.


	3. two months later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr request: what happens after.

Jemma is left to sit beside a fountain in the city center while she waits for rescue. Ward isn’t stupid enough to hand her off to SHIELD personally, but promises he’s made the call and that he’ll be in one of the surrounding buildings. The size and weight of the bag he carries leaves her with no question as to what he’ll be doing while inside.

“I’m not going to shoot _them_ ,” he says, his forehead pressed to hers and his coffee breath wet and warm against her face. “You’re a valuable commodity, Simmons. Can’t let HYDRA get their hands on you.”

He’s gripping her wrist almost to the point of pain while his thumb trails lazy circles over her pulse. Heat flares between her legs and she’s honestly thankful she’s too sore to do anything. (Not that soreness was enough to stop either of them yesterday.)

He walks away, leaving her on the verge of a kiss with her cheeks flaming from embarrassment and other things. He is an utter bastard.

An hour later she spots Skye and May hovering beneath one of the buildings. She stands to indicate she’s not being held and slowly makes her way towards them. Skye meets her halfway with a hug that nearly knocks her down.

“We were _so worried!_ Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, I swear.”

Jemma just rubs Skye’s back and soothes her worries and doesn’t answer the question. Because he _did_ hurt her - the marks beneath her clothing are evidence of that - only not at all in the way Skye means. And she begged him to do it. Over and over again. 

May gives her a rare smile at finding her safe and sound, and ushers them both back to the waiting van.

And that is how Jemma is rescued.

 

* * *

 

  
Jemma bites down on her annoyance as the lab doors slide open. She’s used to performing autopsies uninterrupted; no one wants to be around for them. Additionally, she’s just found something terribly interesting and would prefer to investigate without squeamish bystanders.

Coulson and Skye are hovering just inside the door, Skye already shifting uncomfortably as though she’d like nothing better than to run from the lab.

“What?” Jemma asks, managing to keep her voice in check. Barely. 

“Jemma,” Coulson says and her heart immediately jumps into her throat. He only ever uses her first name when something has gone terribly wrong. “Ward called.”

Well. That is not at all what she was expecting to hear. Confusion furrows her brow. It’s been almost two months since her abduction (and she refuses to think of the event as anything else, for her own sanity at the very least). Since then Ward has resumed his habit of contacting Skye and adopted a new practice of giving gifts to the rest of the team. 

Coulson got one of HYDRA’s leaders, complete with a birthday bow on the man’s bald head. Trip received a collection of his grandfather’s effects, stolen and kept by HYDRA out of pure spite. Fitz, after an especially nasty mission, received a get well card with a picture of a severely banged up Ward. May got a plane.

The body she’s currently examining was _not_ a gift from Ward. (Jemma hasn’t received one at all and has begun to wonder if he considers the day and a half spent in his safe house a gift.) The HYDRA agent just dropped dead in the middle of a fight for no obvious reason and his body was brought back to base for examination. Jemma’s nearly certain she’s just found the cause and is rather eager to get back to studying it, so Ward, as usual, is infuriating.

The lines of Coulson’s face look deeper under the sharp lights of the lab. “He wants to talk to you.” Jemma notices the phone Skye is clutching to her chest along with her laptop. “He says there’s something wrong with the body and if you don’t take the call … it’ll explode.” His hesitation betrays just how he feels about that threat, but he’s taking it seriously enough that he’s down here at all, which says a great deal for Ward’s efforts to become a reliable source of intel.

“Oh.” It’s all she can think to say. She should be worried, but really all she feels is disappointment. Which is silly. She doesn’t want to see him again or speak to him or get any gifts from him. (What she wants, if she’s being truthful, is to touch him and be touched. In strategic places. Repeatedly.)

(Wasn’t sex with him meant to _stop_ these traitorous thoughts?)

“You don’t have to take it,” Coulson’s quick to assure her. “We can-”

“No, I really think I do.” She glances down at the body. “There’s a- ah, device where the heart’s meant to be. I just found it when you came in. I imagine that’s what he’s talking about.”

Coulson nods, which Skye takes as a signal to step forward and begin setting up her laptop on a nearby table.

“He said we had five minutes,” she says, “which was four more minutes than I needed to set up a tracking algorithm, so if whatever this is takes long enough, something good will come of it at least.” She unplugs the phone from the computer and holds it out over the body just as a sharp ring slices through the lab. Only it’s not coming from the phone in Skye’s hand.

Coulson curses as Jemma turns to the dead man’s personal effects. The cell phone she carefully bagged an hour ago has lit up.

“It might not be him,” Skye says weakly. But they all know it’s a lie.

Jemma holds up her bloody gloves and asks, “Would you?” Coulson hurriedly pulls the phone from the bag and turns on the speaker.

“Simmons is here, Ward,” he says, apparently certain it’s him. “She can hear you.”

“That wasn’t the arrangement,” Ward says coldly. “But if you’d rather die in a terrible explosion-”

“It’s all right,” Jemma says. She shrugs her shoulder, indicating Coulson should place the phone there. Reluctantly, he turns off the speaker and does so. “There,” she says crisply, “it’s just you and me, so will you-”

“Hello, beautiful.” His voice is low and rough and instantly brings to mind a certain moonlit cabin. Her pulse picks up and there’s a faint tightness between her legs

Damn him.

“Ward,” she says, voice carefully level.

He chuckles, low and dark. She remembers what that laugh felt like against her skin and against more … intimate places.

“You sound angry,” he says.

“I _am_ standing over a potential bomb.”

“You’ve found it then?” At least he sounds somewhat professional now. Though just what _profession_ Ward might hold these days is beyond her.

“Just before I was informed of your call, actually.” The device is cylindrical with a line of lights peeking out from behind the left lung. She’s not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing.

“I _do_ have excellent timing.”

She rolls her eyes, though he can’t see her, and in doing so catches a glimpse of the others. Skye is clutching the useless phone so tightly between her hands that she looks close to injuring herself. Coulson’s eyes are locked on Jemma. What he’s watching for, she can’t be sure. Would he end the call if he felt Ward was manipulating her? Hurting her? He couldn’t, not with the bomb threat hanging over them. But he certainly looks like he wants to.

“Are you going to tell me how to disarm this thing or not?” Jemma asks, turning her attention back to the body.

“You sound angry.”

“Again,” she says tightly, “bomb.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“I think I know what-”

“Are you jealous?”

Jemma’s voice dies in her throat, which is a terrible mistake and one Ward is well-aware of if the smile in his voice is any indication.

“Oh, _Jemma_ ,” he says. And if he thinks for one minute she believes the fondness in his tone… “You’ll have to open the device. There’s a hatch on the front.”

She sighs, relieved that they’re finally back on topic. “Yes, I see it.” 

“Firm pressure along the seam should pop it right open,” he says. She gingerly presses on it, which is an awkward process what with the open ribcage and the phone tucked beneath her ear. “Have you been wondering what I’d get for you?” he asks.

She jumps and hopes Coulson believes it’s only because of the hatch opening. “ _No_ ,” she says firmly. “Now what?”

“You’re still a terrible liar, I can’t believe you fooled HYDRA for so long.”

She resolves to ignore his needling. “The hatch is open. _Now what?_ ”

“The battery should be front and center, but don’t touch it. That was the point.”

“What?” she asks tartly. “That anyone examining a body implanted with one of these would blow themselves up right away?”

“No,” Grant says, and then his voice drops low again, “making you jealous.” 

Her throat does _not_ go dry. 

“There should be a white wire. Unplug it, but not from the battery.”

If her hand shakes as she reaches for the wire, it’s because of the whole bomb aspect. Not because of Ward.

“Done,” she says around the lump in her throat. She doesn’t have to see Ward to know he’s grinning.

“Do you wanna know what I’ve been doing since the cabin?”

“Leaving unsavory gifts for the team?”

“ _Fantasizing_ ,” he says, like it’s a challenge. He was deeply curious about her fantasies back in the cabin. He drove her half-mad, teasing her with his fingers and tongue and cock until she’d tell him another just so he could act it out for her. One of them, she remembers now, was just his voice in her ear, dark and menacing and utterly honest about what he was going to do to her.

She shifts her weight on her hips. She is utterly aware of the others in the room, of the corpse and the bomb. 

“The bomb, Ward,” she reminds him.

“The wire coming from the outlet at the top of the device. Pull it.” 

She quickly does as she’s told, but he’s not to be deterred from his chosen topic.

“About you, in case you were wondering.” He pauses for a long moment and she wonders if the connection’s gone dead. “You’re in a lab, right? But not _our_ lab?”

“If you’re trying to get me to tell you about the base-”

“Of course it has a lab,” he says flippantly. “Pity. Because I really like the idea of you in the lab on the Bus. Working away in your crisp, white lab coat. And nothing else.” She goes perfectly still, afraid that if she moves, she’ll give away the nature of the conversation to the others. “I like the idea of you on your _knees_ , my cock in that smart, little mouth of yours. How do you like that idea, Simmons?”

Coulson and Skye are _watching her_ , there is a potential bomb in front of her, and somehow the only thing stopping her from touching herself is the blood on her gloves.

She hums, barely managing to give it the slightly high note that indicates agreement. She likes that idea _very_ much.

“I thought you would.” He sounds so cocky, so proud of himself. And there’s not a thing she can say to put him in his place because if she opens her mouth she’s fairly certain what will come out will be a request that he tell her more. “There should be another wire feeding into the battery along with the white wire. Pull only that one out.”

She sighs, relieved that he’s back to the bomb. (And also very, very disappointed.) The lights on the side flicker off when she pulls the wire.

“Is that all?” she asks, her voice a little too high.

“Of course not,” Ward says. “Next time I see you, I don’t care where we are or what’s going on, I _will_ be fucking you against a wall.”

There is a part of her that wants to roll her eyes and ask just who he thinks he is that he can proclaim such a thing. But it’s a distant thought to the part of her that’s already wet and eager for him again.

“Understood?” He must realize she’s in a little bit of an emotional tangle right now, because he adds a sardonic, “Just say yes or no, Simmons.”

Dimly, she realizes he’s giving her a choice, but it’s little choice at all from where she’s standing. “Yes,” she says softly and is quite proud it doesn’t come out an eager plea.

She made a horrible mistake sleeping with him, and she’s paying for it now. And likely will for a long time to come. But she’ll enjoy it while she can.

“Good,” he says, and sounds more like a predator than a man when he says it. “Now here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to pull the white wire, which will finish off the device, and then you’re going to tell Coulson this whole conversation has left you too emotionally drained to continue working. He’ll feel too bad about it all to say no and you’ll go back to your room, where you’ll undress. And touch yourself. And imagine you’re back in the lab - the _old_ lab. I want you to think about me fucking you on every surface in that place - because I certainly have.”

She hums again, this time proudly. It’s nice to know she’s not alone in her unsavory fantasies.

“And when you come,” he says, his voice a low purr, “I want you to remember that what I’m planning to do to you will be a hell of a lot more satisfying than your own damn fingers.”

She feels like that’s something she should have an answer for - whether an agreement or a biting remark about his prowess, she’s not sure - but she’s still a little lost for words.

“See you soon,” he promises darkly and hangs up.

She takes a few seconds to collect herself before awkwardly slipping the phone down her arm to land beside its deceased owner. She pulls the white wire.

“Simmons?” Skye asks, stepping closer. “Are you okay?” She looks like she might cry, like she wants to hug her just like she did when she was rescued.

“I-” Jemma can’t face her. She turns her attention to Coulson, who looks like he’s aged considerably in the last few minutes. “Sir, I- The device should be examined but-”

“I’ll have one of the techs remove it,” he says. He tilts his head back over his shoulder. “Get some rest.”

“Thank you, sir,” she says and truly means it. She’s not sure she could have found the right words to request to leave. She strips off her gloves and all but runs for the door.

Skye follows at her heels, but she’s easily waylaid with a request for privacy and a promise to talk about it later. _Much_ later. After Jemma has had time to come up with a suitable lie regarding what Ward said to her.

She doesn’t think about that now though. She slams into her room, locking the door behind her. She takes some small pleasure in defying him: she strips down, but puts her lab coat on again.


End file.
